


Home Brew

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [463]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:28:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: Anonymous askedPenny and any of the boys and "That's not proper beer!"





	Home Brew

“You may want to be careful with that.” Penny’s tone is calculatedly light, but Scott’s known her long enough to hear the thread of warning.

But this is his reward. Even if they didn’t have time to fly back to Kansas to hit up his favourite brewpub in the world before the World Council meeting tomorrow, Scott was still on four days of downtime following back to back successful rescues, and he had earned himself a goddamn beer.

He just hadn’t expected it to be so….dark, with a tan, creamy head like velvet sealing the glass.

Penny’s managed to find herself a passable albarín blanco, and she takes another sip, holding her wine glass high to appreciate the aroma, before setting it back down on the scarred bar top. “Well, you did order a Theakston’s Old Peculiar.”

Scott shrugs, jutting out his chin to try and take a sip without giving himself a a beer moustache. “I’ve never drunk a Peculiar anything before.” He gave up and just took a sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He blinked, and frowned at the glass. “That was….”

Penny hid her grin behind her own glass. “Peculiar?”

Scott shot her a look that spoke volumes. “Not beer-y, I was going to say.”

She put aside her own glass and stole his. “Technically, it’s an ale.” Mixing her booze was never her favourite thing, but the ale still tasted as she remembered it, from college drinking sessions years ago, when she was young and stupid. The sense memory was more heady than any alcohol, and she took a deeper draught.

Scott stole her wine glass and gestured at the bartender for a refill. “Well, technically, you’re welcome to it. Gimme a Budweiser any day.”

The entire room fell silent. Penny half-turned on her bar seat. “Forgive my American friend, he has no taste.” With a few grumbles, the noise levels in the snug resumed.

“Really?” Scott asked drily, running a finger around the rim of the wine glass.

Penny just settled in, elbows on the bar, glass in hand. “Really, darling. I can forgive not liking the dark ales, but please don’t ever mention that horse piss in this country again.”

Scott burst out laughing and gestured for the next round.


End file.
